Last week, Making the Band blew the lid off the continent's best kept secret: that Ashley and Shelli are still a couple. Oh, and Ikaika quit the band. "The kid left us high and dry without any warning," Erik-Michael complained. Ashley freaked out, unable to believe he was truly watching Ikaika decide to walk away. Haku, in three lines, explains that Ikaika's reasons are only for Clan Kahoano to know.
Roll credits. No commercials. Nothing.
O-Town strolls down the dismal brown hotel hallway. Ashley says he's not bitter about Ikaika's decision, but he'll be angry if Ikaika refuses to finish the photo shoot. Erik chips in that it's only two more hours, and Ikaika could be gone by that afternoon. "I don't care about any damn photo shoot any more," Trevor whines. "We don't have a band." In a confessional, Ashley reminds us that this last day was the most important -- and costly -- part of the entire media tour. Ashley's hair is astounding in this confessional. It's longish and standing straight up, curling sweetly at the tips -- the kind of hair that says, "That Doris Day -- she's a genuine ray of sunshine, and talented to boot."
Erik flops down on the hotel-room couch and hides behind his lips. "You sure you don't wanna leave now too?" he cracks at Trevor. "Yeah, Ikaika had the right idea!" Through humor, Erik's hit on an important truth, but sadly he can't see it, because his upper lip is a vision-blocker. Jacob chips in that he's fleeing too. "You know, I think I might start my own band," Jacob says, probably half-serious. Fondly, Jacob remembers all those groups he started when he was a solo artist. There was his kindergarten Fisher-Price rock band "Doctor" with the girl next door, the heavy-metal group "Cervix" he started with his pubescent school pals, and that Hallowe'en -- the one we just don't talk about any more -- when he and four siblings dressed up as Jem and the Holograms. Ashley pulls him back to reality. "That's funny, because I got a call from RCA a couple of weeks ago and I would be a country artist," he giggles, because it's so silly, I mean, what kind of self-respecting lad would sing country -- oh, wait, sorry Paul. Finally, Erik plays. "That's funny because I got a call from Ricky Martin and he wants me to be his predecessor!" Erik chortles. Four more abused syllables. My Pocket Oxford Dictionary takes a suicide leap off the bookshelf. I'd suggest muzzling Erik-Michael, but short of an actual grizzly bear, there's nothing big enough to cover that mouth. In confessional, Jacob shows zero pity for Ikaika. "He's twenty-one years old and he's letting his daddy and his brother tell him what to do," the tenor scoffs. I hate it when I agree with Jacob. It's a dirty feeling, as though I just rolled around in a pig sty or ate filth, or worse yet, bought a Celine Dion album.